Panopticon
by Goldleaf83
Summary: The power dynamics of observation and surveillance during war.


Panopticon

By Goldleaf83

I have loved HH since the 1970s...but none of its characters are mine, no copyright infringement is intended, and I will make no money on this story.

They all watch . . . all the time.

The Germans watch him. Up in their towers and on the ground, the camp guards keep a special eye on him whenever he's out in the compound. They watch the rest of the prisoners generally, but they keep a close eye on him specifically. He can sense the guards come to extra alertness each time they catch sight of him as he comes out through the barrack door, can feel their eyes and guns monitoring him wherever he goes throughout the compound, whether checking in with other barracks, playing ball games to pass the time, or heading to and from the Kommandant's office. He's easy for them to track, even among the mass of prisoners, the only one in an officer's uniform.

The Sergeant of the Guards looks for the colonel first when he comes into Barrack 2. Schultz relaxes visibly each time he sees him, whether he's in the common room or coming out of his office. He is the one whose absence worries the big sergeant the most – not that the colonel sees Schultz's apprehension when he isn't there, of course, only the look of relief when the sergeant perceives that his most important charge is still present for him to account for.

Klink hunts for him first too, at roll call every morning and evening as he stalks up to hear that the count is correct. He peers closely through his monocle at his high ranking prisoner while delivering his daily dose of propaganda, inspecting what effect the (always bad) news has, hoping to detect lower morale in the colonel's stance and facial expression. Each time Klink's intense focus culminates in a final hard warning glare at the colonel while drawing out "Disss-misssed!" at the end of the twice-daily ritual.

Outsiders to the camp watch him too. Whenever General Burkhalter arrives in camp, he squints around the compound as he makes his way to the Kommandant's office, picking the colonel out of the crowd of prisoners to make sure that the Luftwaffe's great prize remains right where he assigned him. Burkhalter scrutinizes him carefully each time, searching for signs that the colonel's long captivity is finally humbling him.

Even visiting dignitaries want to look him over: many guest officers find Stalag 13 affords them an irresistible opportunity to observe the enemy up close but safely, and Klink is always agreeable to showing off what he privately calls his VIP (Very Important Prisoner). So the American colonel gets summoned all too frequently for Nazi officers' perusal, whether just for private inspection in the Kommandant's office or occasionally for more informal examination over drinks and dinner in Klink's quarters. The visiting officers study and weigh and measure his reactions to their questions (often barely disguised insults or provocations), using his status as a prisoner, however high his military rank, to prove to themselves their own superiority.

Some outside observers are more malicious – and dangerous. Each time Hochstetter arrives on some investigative mission, his eyes immediately sweep around the compound as soon as he exits his staff car, searching out and coldly resting on the man he has identified as his greatest enemy and threat. During interrogations, both the common milder form in the Kommandant's office or sporadic rougher sessions in the cooler, the Gestapo major stares balefully every moment at his captive's face and body, alert for the smallest crack in composure that might signal a successful line of questioning. There is no evading his eyes such occasions.

They all watch him, all the time.

His men watch him too. They look for the easy slant of his cap and the casual slouch of his figure that signal all is well on ordinary days in camp. They relax when they see his self-assured stride around the compound in his frequent informal tours to check on his men as part of his duties as senior POW officer.

When forced to stand at attention for an inspection or search, they glance as best they can out of the corners of their eyes, taking heart when they catch a glimpse of their commanding officer as he pulls himself up tall and lifts his chin defiantly in the face of insults or threats from hostile Nazi officers. As he confronts enemy officers, challenging their menacing intimidation with disrespectfully flippant sarcasm, he feels the weight of his men's eyes. And on the occasions when he crosses a line that Klink can't or won't ignore and gets shoved off to the cooler as punishment for his insolence, he is highly aware of how movement stops all over the compound as all the prisoners and guards gawk at him and his escort.

Always he feels his men's gaze on him, measuring their own fate by his self-confidence. He is always the lead actor on center stage, in the spotlight, performing as their leader. As their commanding officer he cannot let his weaknesses, doubts, or insecurities show. In this he must treat his men as he does the enemy, and let them see only what he wants them to see. Fortunately, in both his audiences, most see what they want to see.

Only in his office is he finally free from anyone's eyes. Even there, though, he cannot escape his men's ears; the walls are very thin and any noise he makes is heard by those close to the door in the common room. Still, he is at least momentarily free from visual surveillance, with a tiny modicum of privacy. But even as he enters his small sanctum and closes the door behind him he knows the respite will be short. He knows that at any minute there may be a knock and Kinch, Newkirk, LeBeau, or Carter will peep round the corner into his small haven, summoning him to the tunnel to take orders from London or to confer with local underground leaders, or to head over to Klink's office to negotiate camp matters, or to organize activities or make schedules or deal with disciplinary issues among the thousand restless men that crowd the camp. Private moments are few, and treasured.

He watches too. In camp, he surveys his men daily to see what they need, if their food and water remain adequate, if they are warm enough, if their showers and laundry and sanitation are working properly, if they're being treated well or badly, if they're healthy or hurt in any way, if morale is good. He makes a habit of meeting the eyes of as many men as he can during his frequent informal inspections of the camp; he learned long ago that the look in a man's eyes tells him far more than the formulaic "yes, sir" or "no, sir" he hears from troublemakers or men with shell shock.

He surveys the guards regularly as well, noting those that pose the greatest danger to his operation, the true believers in Nazi ideology, so that he can manipulate the Kommandant and jerry-rig a transfer elsewhere for them. He hunts out weak spots, those who can be tamed or bribed or turned in some way to his advantage. Sergeant Schultz, so willing to "see nothing" in the barracks that might prove inconvenient for his own comfort, and so easily pumped for information on what he has seen or heard inside and outside camp, is one of his greatest assets.

And even more, he watches outside camp. Through periscopes and binoculars, on moonlit nights and in the dark of the new moon and occasionally daring the bright midday sun, he plays a deadly game of I Spy to count trucks, tanks, troops of all kinds, craning his head while lying low in roadside ditches, perched up on hillsides, sheltered behind trees, staying in the shadows as much as possible to keep out of the enemy's sight. He scans the countryside for vulnerable bridges, factories, and war supplies. Other nights he meets with underground agents, witnesses of the tyranny that has enveloped their country, to collect more information and plan resistance with them. Each time he returns to his tunnel well before dawn, burrowing underground ere the light returns, a mole in the middle of Germany – but a mole with eyes. Once safely back in the darkness below, he reports his information, gleaned from all those who watch with and for him, sending it back to London where those in command will decide how to use it.

And every chance he gets, when the Nazis sleep or turn their heads, distracted or misled – he stops watching, and acts.


End file.
